


Ruthari Week 2020 #2: Moonshadow Boogaloo

by beautifulterriblequeen



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute, Dancing, Dream Sequence, Ethari does too, Ethari's a patient boyfriend, Everyone loves puppies, Fergel's gonna be really good at pushups I can tell, First Meetings, Good friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lain is best bro, Lain wants to kidnap Runaan, Light Angst, M/M, New Boyfriends, Not a Story, Poison, Ribbon Dance, Runaan has Big Feels, Secret Magic, Soft elf husbands, Stabbing, Tiadrin has a Plan, Wedding Day, Wedding Day Shenanigans, Wedding Song, Young Ethari, Young Runaan (The Dragon Prince), actual plot woah, also there's ice cream talk, and kissing, and some blood, assassins practice social distancing too much, i want to die in your arms, moonshadow assassin culture, moonshadow powers, never underestimate a craftsman, painting markings, promotion ritual, runaan's wedding dance notes, singing elves, soft, soft Runaan, they're in love okay, unprompted vows, wee hours talks, whose dream is this, wingelves deserve to have a little fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen
Summary: in which I don't know how titles work but *handwaves*Ruthari Week 2020 (July) prompts:1 - Dreams | Light of (my) Life2 - Free | Bound3 - Work (Training) | Free Time4 - Creatures | Nature5 - Domestic | Ranks6 - Battle | Treatment7 - Life | Death
Relationships: Ethari & Lain & Runaan & Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince), Rayla & Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 109





	1. Never Let Me Go

“No, Lain, we are not kidnapping Runaan. Have you _met_ him?” Tiadrin’s voice got swallowed by the thick inner bark of the whispering tree where she and her husband had retreated to scheme for Runaan and Ethari’s wedding. The light of several small bluish mushrooms gleamed off her hair as she clarified, “He’ll kill you. Not an auspicious beginning to their marriage. Or an end to mine.”

“But it’s so fun!” Lain protested. “We just need to find a way to manage it. And that’s where you come in, sweet.” He grinned winningly and joshed her elbow.

Tiadrin sighed loudly. “I want the flower crown ritual.”

Lain pulled a face. “That still involves sneaking up on him.”

“True,” she allowed, “but it’s less violent. Maybe we can ring-toss it onto his horns from a tree.”

“He’ll hear it coming and slice it in two,” Lain predicted morosely. “This is harder than I thought. Maybe we should just tell him straight out that these are the rituals and traditions we want. He might go along just because we ask.”

Tiadrin tapped her chin. “That’s no fun at all. I know we can find a way to surprise Runaan without getting killed in the process. I just need to think.”

Lain grinned and snorted. “Maybe Runaan will beat us all to the punch and do the vanishing ritual. Disappearing from all the hubbub and showing up out of nowhere just in time to say his vows seems very Runaan, doesn’t it?”

Tiadrin’s dark brows twitched thoughtfully.

“Oh no, you’re having an idea,” Lain breathed.

“Part of one…” she began.

“Mum, Dad? Can we go home now? I’m sleepy.” Rayla, all of three, peeped in through the whispering tree’s thick bark door to where her parents stood inside its trunk.

“Of course, popkin.” Lain scooped her into his arms and rubbed noses with her. “That is, if your mum’s done scheming for the night?” He glanced over when Tiadrin didn’t answer right away.

She was staring at Rayla and smiling.

“Oh no, Rayla. Your mum’s back on her… um… scheming.”

Rayla thrust her tiny fists into the air. “Yay!”

***

Runaan glanced up from his meditation at the soft sound of tapping on his window and spotted a tiny hand pressed against the wavy glass. His eyes widened, and he hopped off the end of his bed in a hurry to unlatch it, mindful of all the broad, brocaded drapings of his green-and-white wedding finery.

A tiny elfling in a formal green gown blinked violet eyes at him from a lot higher up than her usual height. “Rayla? What are you doing here?” He looked down and saw that she’d commandeered an empty moonberry crate and was standing on it wobbily. Without hesitation, he reached out and picked her up, bringing her inside and setting her on his floor.

She didn’t seem to notice her peril. Or perhaps she simply trusted that Runaan would rescue her. “Hi, Runaan! I wanted to say Happy Wedding Day! Are you excited?”

Runaan paused thoughtfully and dropped to one knee in front of her. “Yes. But I’m also a lot of other things. Meditating helps me stay focused.”

“Whatcha focusing on? Is it Ethari?” she asked with a cute grin that wrinkled her little nose.

Runaan’s cheeks flushed for a moment. “In a way. I just want to be the best husband I can be, because he deserves that. So I’m trying to stay focused on how much I love him, instead of how much chaos tonight will hold.”

Rayla tilted her tiny horn nubs. “I thought you liked weddings. Weren’t you my dad’s best elf?”

“I like the _idea_ of weddings. And I love your dad. I’d do anything for him. But having my own wedding is very different than braving one public speech.”

Rayla managed a huge gasp. Runaan wasn’t sure where all the air even went. “Runaan… Are you… _nervous_?”

Runaan immediately looked down.

Rayla took his cheeks in her tiny hands and smiled at him. His turquoise eyes went wide at her sudden contact, but he let her close. He always let Rayla close. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I know what you should do.”

“What’s that?” he asked softly.

“Read me a story.”

Runaan blinked. A quiet interlude where he could focus on something other than his imminent nuptials sounded perfect. Silently, he rose and fetched her favorite book from his shelves. But as he made to sit back down and read to her, she stopped him with tiny hands on his knees.

“Not here. Let’s go to your tree. The one you read under. You like it better there.”

She reached up, her little hand outstretched for his, trusting that he would take it.

Naturally, he had no choice but to do so.

***

“You can come, Ethari, but you _have_ to be quiet.” Tiadrin’s tone was firm.

“I understand.”

She handed him a pair of soft items. “Carry these for me while I scout ahead.”

Ethari studied them, perplexed by the difference in their size. “Why are there two?”

Her smile was both sharp and soft. “You’ll see.”

The craftsman followed her through the outskirts of the village as quietly as he could. He caught up to her as she met Lain. Her husband murmured in her ear a moment, and Tiadrin clapped a hand over her mouth.

“What is it— _ah_!” Ethari yelped quietly as Tiadrin clamped down on his wrist and dragged him after a loping Lain. They paused near Runaan’s reading tree and peered out conspiratorially from behind the same tree trunk.

Across a tiny clearing, Runaan sat at the base of his favorite tree. Its spreading limbs sheltered him in shade, but several small glowing mushrooms were rooted in the trunk above his head, providing soft reading light. But he wasn’t reading at the moment.

He was asleep.

In his wedding finery.

With a tiny elfling sleeping atop his chest.

Rayla lay draped against him as he leaned back against the tree, with her little head on his shoulder. The book he’d been reading her lay forgotten near his open hand.

Ethari inhaled sharply, helpless in the soft and dazzling grasp of sudden adoration.

Tiadrin clapped a hand over his mouth just in time to catch his squee. “I said, _quiet_.”

He sent her an apologetic look and pressed his lips together. Then he put his fingers over his mouth and just stared, enthralled. “My _heart_ ,” he breathed. He started to stand up, but Tiadrin jerked him back down.

“Not yet. Give me those first.”

Ethari glanced down at the flower crowns he’d looped over one arm, and understanding dawned: the wedding-day prank of sneaking a flower crown onto someone’s head without them noticing. That would’ve been nearly impossible, had Runaan been awake. “ _Ohh_.” He handed them over with care, grinning from ear to ear.

He crouched by the tree and watched, entranced, as Tiadrin tiptoed closer and closer to the sleeping assassin who’d let her little daughter fall asleep on him. Runaan would never hurt Rayla, and everyone knew it. Even if he woke at Tiadrin’s touch, he’d never get stabby. In the middle of his excitement over Runaan looking both hot and soft at the same time, Ethari whispered to Lain, “She really knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she?”

“Usually. I just try to keep up.”

Tiadrin eased the smaller flower crown onto Rayla’s head first, knowing how deeply her toddler slept. Then, with infinite care, she lowered Runaan’s flower crown around his horns until it rested delicately against his hair. A moment later, she ghosted back into the trees and came back around to Lain and Ethari the long way.

“Did he wake?” she asked as she crouched with them again.

“No,” Lain said.

Ethari’s heart couldn’t possibly melt any further, but it sure tried. “He must be so tired, poor love. Do we _have_ to wake him?”

Tiadrin shot him a smirk. “I don’t know, Ethari, do you want to marry him under the full moon tonight or should we all suffer through another month of your disgustingly soft PDA?”

“Yeah,” Lain chimed in helpfully. “Get a room already.” He and Tiadrin high-foured, entirely too pleased with their wit.

But Ethari only had eyes for Runaan. Without another word, he rose and crossed the tiny clearing, drawn to the sleeping elf by the sheer force of his love.

***

Runaan woke at the touch of someone’s hand softly taking his own. He began to jerk upright, but he felt Rayla’s soft, warm weight and remembered where he was. One hand cradled her shoulders protectively before he even registered that his hand was being kissed.

He opened his eyes on the sight of Ethari kneeling beside him in swirly-embroidered purple and white, his sunset eyes aglow, pressing a soft kiss against the back of his hand. “Good evening, my heart. Rest well?” Ethari murmured.

Runaan glanced down at Rayla, and a soft smile overtook him. “Yes.”

“I hate to wake you. But it’s nearly time to start. Everyone thought you’d pulled the vanishing ritual and assumed that no one would find you until the ceremony was about to begin.”

“I suppose I did—” Runaan paused as he belatedly registered that Rayla was wearing a flower crown. His hand lifted from her shoulders to his horns. “You flower crowned me?” he asked. “Of course you’d pick the softest wedding prank.”

Ethari’s grin was a mile wide. “Not me. I’m just here to marry you. The flower crowning and the kidnapping was all Tiadrin. With a little help from Lain and Rayla.”

“ _Kidnapping_? No one _kidnapped_ me—” Runaan protested, but he broke off as Rayla woke and grinned up at him.

“Gotcha,” she murmured sleepily. “Mum said you’d go with me anywhere. She was right.”

Runaan’s mouth fell open softly as he belatedly caught up with Tiadrin’s scheme. “You lured me out here so I’d read to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You always doze off when I read to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, rather often, so do I.”

“Uh-huh.” Her violet eyes sparkled mischievously.

Runaan glanced at Ethari, who was still holding his hand. Then he looked past him to Tiadrin and Lain, who sauntered out from behind their tree trunk. His whole family, scheming to play soft wedding pranks on him—on _him_ , an accomplished assassin—so he would feel included and loved as befitted all Moonshadows on their wedding day… Runaan’s heart swelled, and though his gaze returned to Rayla, his affection filled the whole clearing.

“Well done, little shadow,” he murmured. “You got me.”

Rayla hopped up and ran to her parents, squealing with delight. “I got him! He said so. I win!”

Lain picked her up and set her on his shoulders, and Tiadrin gave her a high-four. “See, Lain? I knew it would work. Our stabby friend is very secretly a pile of goo. Don’t worry, Runaan. We’ll never tell a soul.”

Ethari tugged Runaan to his feet and adjusted the shoulders and lapels of his green-and-white finery. “There you go. All set.”

But Runaan couldn’t keep his soft feelings in any longer. He took Ethari’s hands and wrapped them behind his waist. “You’ve kidnapped my heart, Ethari. Swept me away, and I don’t even want to be rescued. Hold me tight, my heart. Never let me go. Before I met you, I was dark and broody. And I still am—that’s never going to change. But now, I see what beauty lies in the light. You are my light, Ethari, and my life. Never let me go.”

Ethari could only stare in entranced wonder at Runaan’s sudden confession. His hands tightened around Runaan’s waist.

“What’cha doing, guys?” Lain called. “The wedding is this way.” He pointed helpfully.

Tiadrin smacked him.

“J-Just practicing our vows,” Ethari stuttered, lost in Runaan’s eyes.

Those turquoise eyes fairly glowed. “What do you mean, _practicing_?” Runaan murmured.

Ethari’s bottom lip trembled for a moment amid his ecstatic smile. “I’m never letting you go, Runaan. I’ll hold onto you every day of my life. If you think my hands are strong, wait until you feel the grip of my heart. From the hold it has on you, my sweetest beloved, there is _no_ way to release. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.”

Runaan’s eyes filled as he clung to Ethari’s gaze, and a soft sigh of bliss escaped his lips. Their kiss was as soft as it was inevitable, full of soft hums and clinging fingers.

Lain’s whisper was soft, but Runaan still caught it. “They really need that room.”

Tiadrin’s reply was equally soft. “Shh, you. Here, Rayla.”

Runaan felt something soft and delicate brush his cheeks and arms, and he opened his eyes to see Rayla, still on Lain’s shoulders, giggling and tossing handfuls of purple and white flower petals over him and Ethari.

Ethari flexed his hands against Runaan’s waist again. “I think we just got married, love.”

Runaan’s smile was soft and eager. “Does this mean we can go home now?”

Ethari picked him up and spun him around, laughing. “Yes! As soon as we have a village-sized party and dance with everyone all night long and stuff ourselves with moonberry surprise!”

Runaan sighed, but he couldn’t help smiling at this loving family that kept growing. They loved him so much, despite his shadows. How could he not let them drag him out to his own wedding ceremony? Besides, the most important part had just happened, right here under his reading tree. The part where his family loved him, no matter what.

“It sounds perfect. Lead the way.”


	2. I'll Be Your One Love True: A Moonshadow Wedding Dance Duet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you peek into a certain book on Runaan's shelf, you'll see his handwritten notes from when he was studying hard to get his wedding dance ritual just perfect. This is what they say.
> 
> Ruthari Week 2020 Day 2 Prompt: Free | Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely don’t know where this came from, but I’ve learned not to question the muse.

Instructions: Begin the dance with each beloved holding the end of a long wedding ribbon in their right hand. As the dance progresses through the six phases, the ribbon will be wound around their hands by the dance moves, drawing them closer until the final chorus. The beloveds end the dance standing face to face, their arms clasped between them and bound with the full length of the wedding ribbon, signifying their choice to bind themselves together.

Duet: First verse is sung with slow pomp that builds progressively to a dashing reel. One beloved sings the first part of the first line, and the other sings the other part. The second line in unison, and the third in harmony. Final chorus is to be slow and soft unison, sung as a gentle promise, repeated three times: one for each beloved and once more for the Moon to witness.

We bind We stand

When we circle, take my hand

And I will never let you go my whole life through

Your palm On mine

Dance with me and tread in time

And we’ll step forth into our future, just us two

In shade And light

Let the day embrace the night

And we will cycle ever onward, me and you

In step Or still

Life may turn us where it will

Our hearts will lead us through all dangers old and new

Hold tight Hold fast

You’re my future, meant to last

And what’s been bound from this day forth let none undo

We wed Today

Never let me slip away

And I will guard your heart and be your one love true

I’ll be your one love true

I’ll be your one love true

I’ll be your one love true


	3. New Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan struggles when his training tells him to keep his distance from Ethari. Lain assigns him a new mission to help him out.

“Hi, hon. How was work?”

Runaan turned sharply and dropped his sweaty shirt on the floor in surprise at the sound of Ethari’s cheery voice. “Ethari, what are you doing back here?”

Ethari gave him a knowing look. “Lain said I could. He says you take forever to get ready after you’re done training for the day, so I thought I’d pop in to see what could _possibly_ be taking you so long.”

Runaan felt the heavy tangle of his workout hair hanging against his shoulders. What a mess he must seem, all flushed and sweaty! Not the image he wished to portray for his brand new… boyfriend? Was that what Ethari was to him? They’d only confessed their feelings to each other last week. Everything was still dazzlingly, dizzyingly new, and despite the urgent aching of his heart, Runaan felt lost around Ethari in more than one way. He turned away to hide his embarrassment and began folding his clean, after-shower shirt with unnecessarily precise motions. “I… didn’t expect to see you until later.”

Ethari was quiet a moment. “I can see I’ve surprised you. I’ll let you grab your shower and I’ll meet you for supper, hmm? The usual?”

Runaan’s head rose from his soft task. “Do we have a usual?”

Ethari spoke from closer behind him. “We can if you want to. Unless you’d like to change things up and eat in your kitchen instead of mine?”

Runaan turned around again, unwilling to admit that he barely had what passed for a kitchen, let alone knew how to use it properly. “Your place is perfectly acceptable. If you don’t mind feeding me.”

The left corner of Ethari’s mouth lifted. “Someone has to. Look at you, you’re a willow whip. I can almost wrap my hands around your waist.”

Runaan flushed at that, but not because he didn’t _immediately_ want Ethari to try it. He wanted it rather a lot. But did couples just… do that? And more importantly, could Runaan ever manage to be comfortable with such a thing? From that moment last week when he’d managed to stumble through a heartfelt confession of love and adoration, Runaan’s training had come into direct conflict with his heart.

And he had _no idea_ what to do about it.

“Runaan? You okay?” Ethari prompted. “You look a little flushed from your workout. Maybe I should towel you off so you don’t overheat.” He teasingly held out a fluffy towel as if he were going to pat Runaan’s chest.

Runaan’s cheeks blazed moonberry red, and he tried to step back to preserve that arm’s-length distance he always kept around him, only to bump into the locker room bench behind him. “Uhm, that’s… not necessary… uhh…” _Moon help me, seriously, I mean it, help, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do!_

Ethari’s towel hand drooped. “I guess this wasn’t a good idea, was it, invading your bastion of assassining without warning. I’ll just go and leave you to it.”

 _No no no, I’m an idiot, please stay!_ “Ethari, wait. Please.”

Ethari turned and waited as requested, his dark brows riding high.

Fumbling, Runaan tucked his hands behind his back and clasped his wrists tightly. “I hope we can still have dinner tonight.”

“Of course we can. I look forward to it.”

“And, about that towel…”

Ethari looked down and realized he was still holding it. “You mean this towel here?” He started to walk back toward Runaan, and a smile spread across his face.

Runaan panicked again and held out his hand, forestalling Ethari’s approach. “I’ll need it after my shower.”

Ethari let his gaze amble across Runaan’s bare chest and shoulders before he met his eyes again. He sighed softly and silently draped the towel over the assassin’s hand. “Sure. See you at my place in an hour.”

He turned and left Runaan with one last smile. But Runaan couldn’t help feeling like Ethari was disappointed in him somehow.

Runaan frowned, deeply upset at himself. _Well, that won’t do at all._

***

Lain woke at a soft but urgent tapping on his window. He blinked awake and realized that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. In his arms, Tiadrin groused, “If that’s who I think it is, he’s got it bad.”

Lain huffed a quiet laugh. “We both know he does, sweet. Stay here. I’ll see what he wants.”

“We know what he wants. Remember what we talked about?”

“I’m on it.” He buried his wife in snuggly blankets to keep her warm in his absence, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and padded to the window. A lift of the latch and the round glass swung open to reveal a mildly disheveled Runaan standing in his garden, with his long white hair spilling over his shoulders.

Leaning on his elbows in the curving sill, Lain grinned and said, “And a bright and shiny ‘good morning’ to you, Runaan. How can I help you in this hour of your distress?”

“Distress?” Runaan echoed.

Lain clucked his tongue and gave Runaan a long once-over. “It’s not even dawn yet, and you came in such a hurry that you haven’t even done your hair. Not to mention that your boots are on the wrong feet.”

“What?” Runaan looked down.

Lain burst into quiet laughter. “No, not really. But you weren’t certain, were you? What’s going on? Is everything okay with you and Ethari?”

Runaan sighed in exasperation, very unlike him in Lain’s experience. “I… I don’t _know_. I think I made a mistake yesterday, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t… understand these soft things. But Lain, I _can’t_ lose him. I _just_ told him how I feel. And he feels the same! How do I keep from failing left and right at something I have no experience with?”

“You’re saying you should’ve practice-dated me after all, huh? I knew you’d come around,” Lain teased.

Runaan only gave him an impatient glare. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Of course. That was never in question. I’ve just never gotten to tease you about dating before. Had to get it in there one time, didn’t I?”

Runaan offered him an even stare. “You really didn’t.”

Lain’s grin was brilliant. “That’s the spirit.”

“Do you two want some tea or something?” Tiadrin mumbled from her blanket nest.

“No,” the men chorused.

“Good. I was going to tell you to make it yourself, _quietly_ , so I could sleep.”

“Yes, sweet. You sleep. I’ll see to our emotionally distraught friend.” Lain shot Runaan a conspiratorial look and pulled on his soft blue robe. He hopped out the bedroom window into the garden, pulling the glass closed behind him, and then he parked Runaan on a broad, decorative rock and sat with his back against his friend’s. The night hummed and chirped and glowed all around them, cool and welcoming, making the elves feel small and forgettable—and Runaan’s problem very solvable. “Alright, tell me what happened.”

Runaan broke down the events in the locker room in an efficient mission report, ending with, “He seemed fine during dinner. But he didn’t kiss me goodbye tonight like he has before. I think I’ve offended him, and I want to make it right.”

Lain nudged his shoulder. “Quit fidgeting, Runaan, it’s not a fatal error. We can definitely make this right.”

“I— how do you know I’m fidgeting?”

“Because I _know_ you, bro. You want to know what I see when you tell me this story?”

A thread of sarcasm entered Runaan’s voice. “Yes, Lain. That’s why I tapped on your window.”

Lain shook his head, and his horns clacked lightly against Runaan’s. “That’s not what I mean. Listen. It’s not a flaw in your character, okay? It’s just the circumstances of your training.”

“What are you talking about?” Runaan was genuinely confused.

Lain took a slow, deep breath and said gently into the night air, “Everything you told me involved Ethari reaching out and you backing away. You know why you do that, don’t you.”

“I… It… It’s better that way—” Runaan began.

“No. Try again.”

“What?”

“Not _better_. What is it?”

“It’s safer, because—”

“Still no. I know this is new territory, Runaan. But stretch a little, for Ethari, okay?”

Soft noises of exasperation issued from Lain’s friend, and he thumped his back against Lain accusingly. But then Runaan kept leaning on him and tipped his head back until it rested against Lain’s. Lain smiled.

“It’s the job. It’s my training.” Runaan’s voice was a mere breath in the dark. “Do you think I’ve embraced it so hard that there’s no more room for me to embrace Ethari too?”

It was Lain’s turn to splutter. “What? Rude.”

“Rude?” Runaan echoed. “How is that rude?”

“ _I_ told you to spill your feelings to Ethari. That was _me_ , remember? And now you’re saying that I know my best friend so well that I deliberately told him to humiliate himself at a soft task that I knew from the very beginning he could never accomplish?” Lain jabbed Runaan in the ribs with his elbow. “ _Rude_.”

Runaan flinched, and for Lain’s benefit, he admitted he’d been struck true—in both respects— with a soft “Ow.”

Lain continued in a more supportive tone, “I have every faith in your ability to expand your training, Runaan. you always throw yourself at everything you’re learning. And now, with Ethari, you need to learn to be soft. Let him close even if he surprises you and your instincts are shouting about threats. You need to _decide_ that you trust him. Tell your training to stuff it when he’s around. And, a bonus mission for you,” Lain added with a wicked grin. “ _You_ need to learn to be the one who does the reaching. Doesn’t have to be all the time. But trust me on this one. Ethari will love it if he sees that you trust him that much. Don’t you think?”

“Hmmm,” Runaan said noncommittally.

“ _Tsk_. I can,” Lain went on. “His bright pretty eyes will go so wide and soft. He’ll do that cute blink he does where he tips his head just a tiny bit and smiles.”

“Which one of us is in love with Ethari again?” Runaan groused.

Lain chuckled at the thread of protectiveness in Runaan’s voice. “Does he blush? I bet you could get him to blush. That’s your master mission. Fluster the craftsman, make him speechless.”

“I suppose I can tr—”

“You have one week.”

“You can’t be serious,” Runaan protested.

“One week, Runaan.”

“Lain!”

“Did I stutter?”

“There’s so much I—”

“ _Ohh_. You’re afraid you can’t _do_ it.”

Runaan went stiff against Lain’s back.

Lain froze too, and then he sighed. He turned around on the rock and slipped an arm around Runaan’s shoulders for a comforting squeeze. “Hey, bro. You listen here. I’m trying to get you to believe in yourself the way _I_ believe in you. I’ve never seen you fail at anything that was really important to you. No, I know. You probably see it differently from the inside. But I see that, too. You pick your battles. You don’t try to accomplish everything that everyone else is doing. You only do what you know you want to do. You became an assassin, and you’re really gifted at it. And now, my good stabby friend, you’ve chosen to pursue Ethari. Letting someone into your life for soft reasons is exactly opposite of being an assassin. Did you really never stop to contemplate that you can’t actually keep such a sweet guy like Ethari at arm’s length forever? He doesn’t want that, and I know you don’t, either, not really.”

Runaan’s shoulders tensed, and his head turned as he looked down and away. Lain dodged his horns, but he could feel Runaan’s embarrassment radiating off him like a tiny moonberry sun. He pressed a loud kiss against Runaan’s hair, right between his horns. “Hey, you got this, bro. Look. You’ve learned to let me hang out behind you where you can’t see me, and give you all the bro hugs and kisses you need. I’m here for you, and I know you trust me. If you can get used to me, you can get used to Ethari, and then some. Someday, you’ll really like having Ethari behind you,” he teased, before breaking into raucous chuckles.

“Moon help me,” Runaan mumbled as he hid his face in his hands.

“Don’t worry, Runaan. I’ll leave that negotiation to you and Ethari. But first, I gotta do whatever I can to get you two closer together. Literally. So here’s my plan.”

Runaan lifted his head. “ _You_ have a plan? That’s usually Tiadrin’s—”

“We ask Tiadrin what to do in the morning,” Lain said firmly.

Runaan nodded and began to rise. “Ah. Good. I’ll see you in th—ow!”

Lain hauled him back down by his long loose hair, and Runaan plunked onto the rock again. “Wow, I have the rudest best friend in the Silvergrove. You think I can’t help you figure this out on my own?”

Runaan wisely stayed silent.

“Okay, here’s the plan: Study your prey for habits and motivation, and then initiate same during an emotionally charged moment for best results.”

Runaan digested that for a long moment. Lain’s suggestion wasn’t that far off from much of his assassin training techniques. He’d just never contemplated its application to non-assassin scenarios before. “Huh.”

“Right? Ta-daa!”

Runaan nodded slowly. “Please tell Tiadrin thank you for me.”

“Wh-? How. _How_ could you possibly know that?” Lain complained.

Runaan just smiled. “I’ll take the mission and report back for any further training I require before my week is up. Good night, Lain.”

Runaan ghosted off into the shadows, leaving Lain by himself on the cool rock. He grinned after his lovesick friend. “ _Tsk_. It’s _morning_.”

***

Runaan prowled after Ethari in all his free time, making copious mental notes and learning way more than he expected to. He’d wanted to peek into Ethari’s life for quite some time, but until he’d confessed his love, he’d truly have had no reasonable explanation if Ethari had caught him at it. But things were different now. Runaan would be embarrassed at being seen while trying to be stealthy, but not deathly mortified at having Ethari know how he felt. Not anymore. Now, a shy glee lived eternally in his chest, a rising sun that constantly made him feel like he was walking in the reflective light of a full Moon.

And now he was learning, finally, things about Ethari. Things like how Ethari hummed while he watered the plants in his window in the morning. And while he cooked. And while he tinkered with bits of jewelry while he sat on his porch, waving to elflings who skittered past at play. How he greeted everyone in the market while he shopped for lunch, and how they seemed genuinely pleased to see him. How his face just lit up at the sight of things that pleased him, from flowers to moonrise to Tiadrin pranking Lain to seeing Runaan for supper again.

Runaan took his mental notes to Lain and Tiadrin and tentatively suggested a plan of attack. Tiadrin gently observed that calling it “a plan of attack” might be a bit much. But the three of them got to work, and Runaan gave their instruction every ounce of his focus.

Because this mission, out of all of them, was one he was determined not to fail.

The week wore on, and Runaan made a point of squeezing Ethari’s hand every time the craftsman took his. Made sure to linger, to let himself be seen drinking in the sight of Ethari’s smile. To kiss back as enthusiastically as Ethari kissed him. To revel in Ethari’s heady scent when they stood close.

The night before his week was up, he stood in Ethari’s doorway, saying good night, hesitating, not wanting to leave yet. And Ethari smiled and let him keep talking.

He worked up his courage and reached for Ethari’s hands—a first that made Ethari shoot him a wide glance of pleased surprise. “Thank you, Ethari.”

“For what?”

“For being patient with me while I learn. I want to learn.” He bit his lip and set Ethari’s hands on his waist. “Hmm, I guess you can’t quite reach all the way around—”

“ _Mmhhh_ , Runaan.” Ethari’s fingers pressed against him, followed swiftly by his forehead against Runaan’s. “Just say the word and I’ll help you learn anything you want.”

“M-Moonberry tarts?” Runaan stammered.

“What?”

“I like your moonberry tarts. Maybe… you would be willing to show me how to bake them with you? Tomorrow?”

Ethari’s eyes danced as he chuckled. “That sounds like a great idea. We can have them for supper.”

Runaan carefully cradled Ethari’s face in his hands and stared into his beloved’s eyes. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

***

Ethari stretched his shoulders as he came in the doorway from the workshop. Runaan wouldn’t be over for a couple of hours, so he had some time to tinker with his latest project…

His thoughts trailed off as the warm smell of moonberry filling reached his nose. “Hello?” he called, heading curiously toward the kitchen.

The sight that greeted his eyes shot tingles down to his toes and lifted him straight off the floor. Runaan stood at the stove in his casual greens, studiously stirring a small pot of moonberry goodness and reading instructions from one of Ethari’s own cookbooks. His hair was bundled up high on the back of his head, but soft white wisps trailed down the nape of his neck, stuck there from the heat of working over the stove. And he’d put Ethari’s own apron on, too, the white one with silver swirlies edging it.

Runaan. In Ethari’s own kitchen. Just helping himself to all the soft little things that Ethari had been longing to share with him. His heart inflated like an ecstatic balloon.

The assassin turned at Ethari’s soft gasp and smiled apologetically for his intrusion. He dipped his big wooden spoon into the moonberry filling and scraped off a drop on the edge of the pot. Then he carried it over to Ethari for a taste test, cupping his hand protectively beneath it.

Ethari opened up and let Runaan feed him a bite of hot sweet filling. He began to hum appreciatively around it, but Runaan’s lips met his before he could compliment the chef.

“ _Mmfff_!” Ethari leaned in eagerly, sharing the sweetness of the kiss with Runaan, pulling him into his arms, cupping the back of his neck, holding him softly.

Runaan leaned his forehead against Ethari’s, content at last to be held. After a long, tender moment of just _being_ with Ethari, he opened those soft turquoise eyes and met Ethari’s gaze with a secretive smile. “Hi, hon. How was work?”

Ethari’s stammering blush was all the reward Runaan needed.


	4. Fluffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan's first visit to the Silvergrove brings him face to face with his new mentor, a moonstrider pup, some moonberry surprise, and a boy who makes moving across the forest suddenly seem worth it.

Runaan tucked his hands behind his back and dutifully followed in his father’s wake as they meandered. The Silvergrove was a lovely village, but it wasn’t home—yet—and Runaan struggled to keep his eyes from darting around the green, the market, the side paths, and drinking in every new sight. He still hadn’t mastered his father’s cool exterior demeanor yet, but he was determined to do his best on this visit. First impressions were critical.

The locals always stopped and smiled, bowing and passing small talk with his father. Runaan hated small talk. He couldn’t wait to reach the training compound, where the assassins practiced their craft. Where he’d be living come spring.

 _Why am I so impatient? It won’t be as good as the training facilities back home._ Runaan suppressed an uncomfortable wriggle in his shoulders, lifting his chin and stilling his expression.

“Moonberry?” A purplish-tan hand appeared in front of him, holding a few plump, ripe berries on its palm.

Runaan’s brows rose at the sudden offer, and he traced his gaze up the sleeved arm attached to it, finding an elf about his own age smiling at him as if he knew a secret Runaan didn’t. The boy’s white hair was a disaster, and his horn stubs grew wide, unlike the closer swoops Runaan was used to seeing at home. The burr in his voice was softer than some Runaan had heard, but it still carried that _otherness_. And his cheek markings… _Protective briers. How soft._

Runaan looked at the moonberries again. Were they washed? How about that hand? Didn’t the boy have a bowl or something? “No, thank you.” He began to brush past, in order to keep up with his father.

“Can I get you something else instead? You must be hungry after your journey,” the boy said.

Runaan glanced back and studied the boy’s eyes. They were a rich coppery sunset beneath dark brows, wide and friendly. Runaan’s tummy growled, and after a moment of effort, he remembered his manners. Kind of. “I don’t suppose the Silvergrove has a decent moonberry surprise?”

The boy grinned sassily and immediately replied, “If I tell you the answer, you won’t be surprised.” And then he darted off, leaving Runaan staring after him in bafflement.

“Runaan.”

The young assassin sucked in a quiet breath at his father’s quiet tone, ducked his head, and hurried to resume his place in the elf’s wake.

An interminable ambling finally led Runaan and his father to the assassins’ training compound, where he was introduced to the leader of the assassins, a tall and sturdy woman named Siane. He drank in her guided tour with eager eyes, memorizing the compound’s layout, access points, and hidden areas, as well as a couple of spots where he could probably manage to crouch and observe without being seen. He wondered if he’d find any other assassins’ sigils carved in such locations as he had back home. If not, he’d definitely be starting that tradition when he moved here.

“Any questions?” Siane asked, looking directly at Runaan.

“No barracks,” Runaan said.

Siane’s heavy looped braids swung as she nodded, and another of the assassins stepped forward beside her. “This is Lain. You’ll barrack with him in the village when you’re transferred here, and he will be your mentor.”

Runaan’s eyes snapped to the taller elf. Lain was shorter than Siane and his father, but sturdy of shoulder and broad of stance. He also bore copper eyes and those wide horns, but his were nearly fully grown, only missing their final curve. Runaan had to admit that they looked nicer the longer they got. And the serious look in Lain’s eyes as he nodded politely to Runaan comforted him more than a little. Lain was taking him seriously. Runaan was only fourteen, and he’d been concerned that the Silvergrove would see him as a child first and an assassin second. That would never do, so he’d been mentally preparing to fight to be taken seriously. But Lain was already doing so, and he looked like he wanted Runaan to know it. That was generous of him. Runaan nodded back and felt his shoulders relax.

Lain pulled something from behind his back and approached Runaan. He held out a tiny plate with a tartlike dessert on it: a miniscule, personal-sized moonberry surprise! “Welcome to the Silvergrove, Runaan. I look forward to having you with us.”

Runaan couldn’t help grinning as he accepted the sweet gift. “Thank you, Lain. You didn’t need to greet me so kindly.”

Lain turned halfway away and murmured under his breath, “It’s not from me, kid. You’ve made friends quickly.”

Runaan glanced up with a frown, and Lain tilted his horns toward the compound doorway. When Runaan looked over, he saw that same boy from earlier, grinning broadly at him and giving him finger guns.

Finger guns. How _provincial_.

Still. Runaan got moonberry surprise out of it. And that in itself _was_ surprising. Runaan studied the treat as Siane began discussing things with Runaan’s father, and he couldn’t help the small smile of admiration that stole across his features. That boy had indeed brought Runaan a moonberry _surprise_. A worthy wit, indeed.

Runaan took a small bite. Moonberry goodness exploded across his tongue, mixed with a new and fascinating combination of additional flavors. His eyes widened in pleasure.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so lame here after all.

The tour of the village wended onward, and Runaan polished off his treat and bade Lain farewell until his next visit.

The market was the last place on the tour before supper, and Runaan secretly hoped to get a second moonberry surprise then. But his father insisted on talking with every merchant on the market grounds, it seemed, in order to get a feel for the mercantile heart of the Silvergrove, as well as the range of goods it would be able to offer his son. Runaan wasn’t really bothered by his father’s distant concern for his well-being, but he was getting a little bored.

A soft yip caught his ears. He knew that yip.

Without turning his head, Runaan looked to his left. One of the merchant vendors had brought her moonstrider to the market that day, because it had recently borne pups.

Moonstrider pups. Fluffy and eager and adorably chaotic. Runaan somehow managed to keep his excited reaction to merely bouncing on his toes a few times.

He couldn’t _not_ pet them. He _had_ to. No one was even looking at him, everyone was focused on his father, he could just slip over and—

Runaan sidled out of position and crouched behind the vendor’s table. He held out his hand, knuckles up, for the mama moonstrider to scent him, and he held very still while she assessed his threat level. But he couldn’t help grinning at her the whole time. Her sleek lines were beautiful, and the intelligence radiating from her eyes thrilled his soul.

She licked his hand, giving him permission to be near her and her babies, and Runaan gently eased that hand down and softly petted one of her little fluffballs.

Moon help him, he wanted a moonstrider pup so _bad_.

Maybe…

Maybe once he lived here in the Silvergrove… he might actually get to…

“Cute, aren’t they?” a voice whispered.

Runaan jerked his gaze up from the adorable white fluffball that was currently trying to gnaw off his fingers and found the same boy from before crouching on the other side of the mama moonstrider, petting her back with an easy, gentle touch. Runaan nodded silently in agreement.

“I’m more of a shadowpaw aficionado myself, but there is an elegant appeal to moonstriders,” the boy murmured. “Their design is so efficient, and so extra at the same time.” And then he winked!

Runaan blinked in confusion. Was the boy saying that Runaan reminded him of a moonstrider? Was that a compliment? Runaan intended to take it as one.

“Thank you for the moonberry surprise,” he replied. “It was… surprising.”

“Thought you’d like that.” When the boy grinned, his cheek briers pulled back, making him seem even happier. Runaan found the effect rather charming, after all. “I’m Ethari. And you’re Runaan, right?”

Runaan’s brows twitched at hearing his own name in that lilting brogue, as if Ethari was tucking it into the corner of his cheek for safekeeping. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Ethari.”

“It’ll be nice having you here in the village, come spring. We can be friends!”

“Assassins don’t really have friends,” Runaan said.

But Ethari wasn’t listening. “Nope. It’s decided. I like you and I’m going to be your friend. You can’t stop me.”

Something steely entered Ethari’s coppery eyes as he smiled and petted the moonstrider, and Runaan suddenly very much believed that he couldn’t stop Ethari’s friendliness if he tried.

_He’s not as soft as I thought._

_And he’s… kind of cute, too._

_Oh._

_…_ Oh _._

Runaan’s cheeks started to go pink. And then Ethari grabbed his hand. “Runaan.”

Runaan gasped and twitched at the sudden warmth of Ethari’s sturdy hand. No one ever touched him. “Wh—”

“Your dad, Runaan. He’s about to move on. Better get back there.”

Runaan’s cheeks felt like they were on fire as he met Ethari’s eyes one last time. His mouth fell open softly, but he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Go, go, silly. The pups will still be here when you return in the spring. Bit bigger by then, though.”

“And you…?” Runaan breathed.

Ethari’s teasing grin glowed like the rising moon. “I live here, you goose.”

Runaan’s face was an inferno. “Right. Right. Thank you, Ethari—” The boy’s name tasted strange and spicy on his tongue.

Ethari gently pushed his shoulder to get him to move back toward his father, and again Runaan twitched at the feel of someone touching him. He scrambled back to stand near his father, tucking his hands behind his back and calling on his meditative breathing techniques to quell his chaotic mind. Had anyone else noticed his absence?

As his father’s procession carried forward, Runaan risked a final glance back at the cute boy who’d been so kind to him.

Ethari still crouched by the moonstrider family, petting them softly. He looked up and met Runaan’s eyes, and then he winked again and pressed a finger to his lips, promising to keep Runaan’s soft secret.

Runaan managed a nod of thanks, and then he was drawn again into his father’s wake. All of him except his heart, which had suddenly decided that it wanted to live in the Silvergrove starting _now_.

Because there in the Silvergrove lived a cute boy with a soft brogue and a softer heart, a clever wit and a gentle touch.

Runaan hadn’t expected much when he arrived in the Silvergrove. But he found something he didn’t know he was missing.

Home.


	5. You Tease Me, But Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan gets promoted, but he's not expecting the ritual it entails. Ethari sure has fun, though.

“I just wish…” Runaan hesitated.

“What is it, love?” Ethari prompted. He nuzzled Runaan’s ear lightly as they held each other close.

“I’m humbled and honored that the assassin corps has nominated and approved me to take Siane’s place as leader. Truly, I am. But I’d _prefer_ ,” Runaan amended, “to know the steps of the promotion ritual before I undergo it.”

Ethari smiled and pressed a long kiss against Runaan’s cheek. “Leave it with me. I know who to ask.”

“Siane’s crew won’t tell you.”

“Of course not. But I wasn’t planning to try to pry secrets from the assassins’ old guard. I’m charming, but I’m not _that_ charming.”

“What then?”

“I have a secret weapon.”

Runaan huffed a quiet laugh that lifted Ethari’s arm across his chest. “You have a lot of weapons, my heart. Which one are you referring to?”

“Tiadrin.”

Runaan’s hum of impressed approval was all the permission Ethari needed.

***

“I have news, my shade.” Ethari paused at the bottom of the central stairs and looked up at his limber husband, who was wrangling a long dust wand and gathering old cobwebs twenty feet above Ethari’s head.

“About what?” Runaan asked from behind his dust mask.

“The promotion ritual.”

Runaan pulled his feet together from their separate perches and dropped effortlessly to the step above Ethari. He pulled his mask down and met his husband’s gaze with eager intensity. “And?”

 _And_ , Tiadrin had gotten to him, as so often happened. Ethari offered a cheery smirk and said only, “You’ll like it.”

Runaan smacked his butt and murmured fondly, “Traitor.”

Ethari snagged Runaan’s hand and wrapped his arm around his own waist, sidling close. “Just promise me you’ll wait until the ritual is complete before you pass judgment, my shade.”

Runaan could never refuse Ethari anything. Especially when he wrapped himself in Runaan’s grip like that. He murmured his reply against Ethari’s lips. “Yes, my heart.”

***

The morning of the promotion ritual arrived, and over breakfast Ethari graced Runaan with the knowledge that he’d be the one to paint Runaan’s new markings on. “So don’t worry, it will be you and me, just like always. I’ve been practicing, too—”

“On who?” Runaan blurted, showing his nerves.

Ethari chuckled and fetched a pair of long golden gourds from a rarely used cupboard. They bore a crisp and perfect replica of markings denoting an assassin leader: one for the shoulder, one for the hand. He waggled them invitingly. “I thought we could bake them afterward to celebrate.”

The look of alarm on Runaan’s face sent Ethari chuckling again. “I’m only teasing you, love. Please, relax and trust me. I know the ritual. And you know me. Have I ever once let you out in public looking anything less than perfect?”

Runaan lowered his lashes and suppressed a smile. “No. I put myself in your hands most willingly, my heart.”

Ethari perched in his lap and kissed him softly. Then that teasing twinkle returned to his coppery eyes. “I’ll remember you said that.”

Runaan wrapped his arms around Ethari, shook his head with a smile, and nuzzled close. “You’ll be the death of me one day, my light.”

Ethari captured Runaan’s face and tilted it up to his. “Nothing would please me more, my heart. I’m no assassin, though, so it will take me a century or so to get it right. I hope you’re content to wait that long.”

The adoration shining from Runaan’s eyes was all the answer Ethari could’ve hoped for.

***

The assassin compound shut its doors, and everyone inside gathered in the moonhall beneath the great carven moons in all their phases. Runaan took a deep breath just outside its doors, settling his nerves. Ethari would be there, inside, right beside him the whole time. Nothing could go wrong if Ethari was there. Runaan felt a smile steal across his lips as he felt his husband’s love surround him.

He brushed a finger across his unmarked nose. He felt practically naked without his markings, and appearing such in the presence of others was going to be more than a little weird. But Ethari would set that all right soon enough. Ethari made everything right.

He took a second deep breath and shifted his focus. This ritual was important not for him, but for those he would lead. They’d already chosen him. He’d already earned their regard and their respect. But today was to show them that he’d heard their confidence and valued it as deeply as they valued him.

Runaan pulled open the doors and stepped into the moonhall. A few dozen assassins— _his_ assassins now—stood silently in a few orderly rings around the open center of the room, where a single stool rested, awaiting him. He recognized his latest trainees among those in the outermost ring: Fergel, Mayr, Bren, Branneg. They seemed particularly excited, grinning broadly. Probably because Runaan had been their mentor for the past few months, and they were excited to share in the reflected light of his advancement.

He strode up and took a moment to nod generally to everyone who’d come to witness the ritual, taking care not to show favoritism, and then he sat. Ethari entered the room directly in his line of sight, and the assassins parted to let him through.

His husband carried a pot of deep blue ink, and his paintbrush rode tucked behind his right ear. He paused before Runaan and smiled happily, and Runaan studied him trustingly.

Ethari shot him a quick wink, and then he turned to the watching assassins. “Thank you all for attending. Please, have a seat.”

 _Sitting, in_ my _assassin compound?_ Runaan caught himself being possessive of his new charges already, and he tucked the notion away. This was Ethari’s ritual to discharge, not his. He was heartened to see everyone turn subtly to him for permission, though. He lowered his chin crisply, giving Ethari the support he needed to carry the ritual forward, and as one, the assassin corps settled into seated positions.

Ethari pulled the paintbrush from his ear and tipped up Runaan’s chin with one finger, studying his canvas. “Your face is what you were born with,” he began, in a deep, carrying voice. “Your markings symbolize who you choose to be.” And with no more ado, he dipped his brush and expertly applied Runaan’s nose stripes, using sure, gentle strokes honed with years of practice.

Runaan inhaled, and the wet, sweet-mineral scent of the markings filled him with decades of familiar memories from marking rituals past.

Then Ethari stepped back and began a slow circle around Runaan, letting all the assassins see their new leader thus painted. “Who do you choose to be, Runaan? What do your stripes symbolize?”

Runaan had thought very carefully about what markings he wanted to wear, back when he first chose them. Everyone knew what the assassin hood symbolized. But not every assassin needed to wear it. Runaan knew the feel of it in his soul, and he could summon it at will. “I am the shadow of the hood,” he said.

Ethari nodded sharply. He finished his circuit around Runaan and returned to stand right in front of him. He bit his paintbrush and reached for the frogging on Runaan’s shirt, freeing it with one hand. Then he hooked his free fingers against the soft fabric and began another circuit around Runaan, slowly pulling his shirt off.

Runaan felt a light flush heat his cheeks. He knew his shirt had to come off at some point, but this wasn’t quite how he’d expected it to go. He never had any objection to Ethari peeling off his shirt. But doing it _like that_ , in front of all his assassins? Was that _really_ part of the ritual? His eyes shot to Ethari’s, but his husband lifted his chin and kept circling, pulling the shirt free of Runaan’s other arm as well, leaving him bare-chested and unmarked in the center of the room. The smooth weight of Runaan’s ponytail fell heavy against his bare back.

Ethari tossed Runaan’s shirt over one shoulder and plucked the paintbrush free of his teeth. “Your skin is what you were born with. Marking your heart symbolizes who you choose to be.” Ethari moved to Runaan’s left side and tucked his left side tail up behind his ear for him. Then he carefully applied the broad strokes of the Moon rune on his left pectoral and swiped two long lines up and over the back of his shoulder. “Who do you choose to be, Runaan? What does your heartmark symbolize?”

Runaan’s jaw bunched briefly as he reminded himself why he wore this mark. Why he fought and sacrificed and trained and taught. “My heart for Xadia.”

“Yes, my shade,” Ethari murmured. His voice was thick with emotion as he rested a hand on Runaan’s right shoulder.

Runaan turned his head sharply to see that soft hand on his skin. Was this really the time for such softness? But he remembered Ethari’s advice: wait for the end of the ritual.

Ethari stepped to Runaan’s right and knelt on one knee, setting his paint pot down. He took Runaan’s hand in his as if he were going to kiss it, and he ran his other hand up to Runaan’s bare shoulder and back down again. “These arms are strong. They draw a bow with effortless skill. They wield swords like lightning.” He paused and looked around the room, and a strange light lit his eyes. “They also hold me tight at night. They carry things for me when I need help. They offer me supportive hugs. They take, but they also give.”

Runaan’s eyes widened in shock as he looked down at his kneeling husband. _Ethari, what are you doing in the middle of my promotion ritual?_

Ethari looked up at him, proud and unapologetic. “These are the arms _I_ mark and send into battle. These are the arms _I_ love. If they never return to hold me again, then that is _my_ sacrifice to make. _My_ _heart_ , for Xadia.”

That slight hesitation in Ethari’s wording changed the meaning of the phrase so subtly, yet so profoundly, that it took Runaan’s breath away. _Oh. Ohh. This,_ this _, is the ritual._

His mouth dropped open, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from Ethari’s face. That Ethari loved him so deeply that he’d let him go while knowing he might not return one day, because that was what Runaan wanted—what he _needed—_ and that Ethari would admit such in the presence of everyone whose lives Runaan would carry from then on, moved Runaan’s heart so suddenly that he started to get up in order to embrace him.

But Ethari tugged him firmly back onto his stool and kissed the back of his hand. Then he knelt up and kissed Runaan’s shoulder. Only after offering such softness did he pick up his brush again. “Your arms are what you were born with. Wearing these new markings symbolizes who you choose to be.”

And he began painting on Runaan’s new rank sigils.

Runaan sat in a whirlwind of wonder and amazement as Ethari worked. The brush drew cool strokes across his shoulder—a circle and a forked diamond, followed by three heavy dots. All but the dots were recreated atop his hand, to match. Lastly, Ethari connected the two symbols of Runaan’s rank with a long, thick line, which would only be broken by such unthinkable things as cowardice and failure.

As Ethari shifted to work on Runaan’s left arm, the assassin became aware of his own swift breathing and how visible it was with his shirt off. How he couldn’t keep his eyes off Ethari, not after what he’d just professed. The room felt a little too big, too crowded, and he wished they could be alone together. He wasn’t even sure what he really wanted—talking, kissing, he’d take anything from Ethari after that earthshaking confession of love and support. He just knew that he needed his husband desperately right then.

Ethari finished the last connecting line and set the paint and brush next to the stool’s feet. He stood, stepped back, and asked, “Who do you choose to be, Runaan? What does your rank symbolize?”

Runaan stood up as well, feeling cold and hot and tingly and breathless. He lifted his chin and spoke for the room. “I am Runaan of the Moonshadow Elves, leader of the Silvergrove assassins. I will lead you all to the very best of my skill, and I expect the best from every one of you.” And then he stepped closer to Ethari, mindful of all his wet paint, and took a slow, unsteady breath. “And I am, always, your most humble husband. Thank you.”

He stepped forward again, unable to bear the distance between them. His hands settled on Ethari’s biceps, and he leaned his forehead against his husband’s. “Thank you,” he breathed again.

Ethari’s hands settled on his waist. “I love you, no matter what comes.”

Their soft moment was broken by Fergel’s sassy voice. “If you don’t kiss him, O Great Leader, I’m skipping training tomorrow in protest.”

A dozen other voices joined in the callout, and Runaan’s eyes popped wide in amused outrage. He stepped from Ethari’s grasp. “Everyone who just said a word, give me a hundred pushups. You know who you are. Fergel, you give me two hundred.”

With chuckling protests and laughing sorry-not-sorry mutterings, Runaan’s assassins started doing pushups in perfect unison.

Runaan shot Ethari a look of mild exasperation, but Ethari just grinned and chuckled. The other assassins resumed their places after their hundred pushups were complete, huffing lightly with effort, and everyone watched Fergel work his way through his second hundred.

But then he didn’t stop.

“Fergel.” Runaan’s voice was heavy with suspicion.

“I’m just getting a head start on tomorrow’s workout, Boss, since it looks like I’ll be _mysteriously_ ill.”

A quiet chorus of snickers ringed the room. Runaan knew Fergel was testing his authority on purpose, a ritual of its own. Runaan had always had two sides, and he’d learned to be comfortable switching between them at will. He gave Ethari a soft smile that told him to wait with him there, and then he let Fergel pound out another two hundred pushups while everyone else watched. When Fergel’s arms had begun to shake, Runaan finally stepped back over to Ethari, offered him a conspiratorial grin, and kissed him softly. Ethari’s hands squeezed his waist enthusiastically, mindful of all his wet paint. The ring of watching assassins whooped, and Fergel collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Runaan took his time making sure Ethari felt appreciated, drawing a soft hum of longing from his throat, before finally breaking the kiss. He turned back to Fergel. “I’ll see _you_ bright and early tomorrow for training,” he told him.

Fergel, exhausted, propped a thumbs-up on the floor and muttered a breathless “Yes, Boss.” His fellow assassins laughed and picked him up as a group, carting him away.

With the ritual complete, Runaan tugged his shirt free of Ethari’s shoulder and held it loosely. “Thank you again, my light. It means so much to have you do this with me.”

“Tiadrin said they needed to see you soft. But I think they also needed to see you make Fergel do four hundred pushups,” Ethari chuckled.

Runaan shot a quick smile after his wayward assassin. “It’s good for him. He’s got the potential to take my place someday.”

“Wow. Your paint isn’t even dry and you’re already thinking that far ahead. That’s kind of hot.”

Runaan ducked his head. “You tease me, but yes.”

Ethari drew in a sharp breath and grinned broadly.

“What? What did I say?”

“‘You tease me, but yes’ is our whole relationship, Runaan.”

Runaan shook his head and smiled. “It is. I wonder where you should paint that on me.”

“Oh, I already have a list,” Ethari purred.

“Mmm. Then start here.” Runaan tapped a finger against his lips, and Ethari’s eager kiss left its mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for falling off the schedule, I am uhhhhh imperfect and flawed and there was blood. I'm determined to get something done on my birthday though, and this is it, woo!


	6. Moon Reflects Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan's gotten himself badly injured. All he wants is to see Ethari one last time. But Ethari, as usual, has ideas of his own regarding Runaan's prospects.

Runaan leaned a shaky hand against the cool stone wall and tried to catch his breath. Deeper into the grotto, Ethari knelt with his back to the cavelike entrance, working on something in front of him, nearly silhouetted against the bright shaft of sunlight that angled in. Butterflies and trailing vines surrounded him as if he crouched in an enchanted garden. Which, in a way, he did.

But Ethari’s movements were neither calm nor graceful, and the low string of desperate curses that issued from him, interspersed with his name, told Runaan that his husband was, in fact, furious.

With him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Runaan breathed. Why did his voice sound so thin?

“Runaan!” Ethari spun on his knees, and Runaan caught a glimpse of what he’d been working on: a backpack stuffed with emergency supplies and every bit of medical and defensive gear they’d brought on the trip. Ethari had also fashioned a few spears with deadly knapped obsidian heads, and… was that a obsidian-studded whip?

_Oh. He’s serious._

“…Going to war, my heart?” Runaan whispered. He left the stone wall and staggered forward, drawn to Ethari’s urgent eyes, his taut expression. There was one thing he needed in this world, and it was Ethari. Any piece of him, any part, any touch, any word.

Just that.

Just Ethari.

And then he could rest.

Ethari leaped to his feet and hurried to him. Runaan could barely remember being able to move that fast. The cold, it was already coming for him. But he refused to leave without seeing Ethari one last time.

“C-Couldn’t go yet…” he stuttered. A painful cough brought the taste of iron to his tongue.

Runaan had managed to step close enough to catch the exact moment when Ethari realized what had happened to him. His husband’s eyes traveled down his body and stopped at the heavy, dark stain that soaked his shirt. Those bright coppery eyes widened in shock and horror, and he reached instinctively to support his husband.

Runaan braced for Ethari’s touch, but Ethari’s hands were gentle, as always, steadying him at shoulder and waist. “What happened, what is this?” He dared not touch the dark protruding object that had speared his husband through—the fanglike projection was dripping with poison and slick with no small amount of Runaan’s blood.

Runaan coughed again and leaned into Ethari’s hands. “Demiwyrm nest. Not as fast as I am, but too many. One caught me mid-spin.”

Ethari glanced over Runaan’s shoulder toward the grotto entrance.

“I took care of them,” Runaan whispered. “They won’t come for you.”

“ _Me_? Runaan. Shut up and save your strength.” Ethari’s palm rested gently along Runaan’s ribs, a handsbreadth from the slender, hooked stinger that impaled him. “Much poison?”

Runaan nodded tiredly. “Afraid so. Been seeing ghosts for the past quarter of an hour.”

Ethari’s hands clenched, making them both wince. “Runaan…”

“I know.”

“…Do you?” Ethari breathed.

Runaan rested his forehead against Ethari’s and let his eyes slip shut, nodding once. Of course he knew this was the end. He’d known it from the moment the stinger had pierced him. But it didn’t matter now. He was with Ethari, here at the last, and that was all that mattered.

He was starting to forget everything else, anyway. The ghosts were getting more numerous.

His knees gave out, and he crashed to the soft dirt with a grunt of pain. Ethari fell with him, trying to catch and support him, and ended up cradling him against his chest, keeping the back end of the demiwyrm spine from resting on his lap. “Runaan, Runaan, I’m here. I have you, my heart.”

Runaan smiled up at his concerned face. “There you are. Thought I’d gone already. Get to see you one more time, hmm? Good.” He lifted an uncertain hand, and Ethari cupped it and pressed it to his own cheek so Runaan could hold his face.

“Let me try to save you,” Ethari insisted. “You’re always in such a hurry to die for things. I have all the medical supplies right here. I was about to head out after you. Let me try.”

“Sorry, my heart. Tried to be faster… Poison’s winning.”

“No!” Ethari gritted his teeth and pressed a hard kiss to Runaan’s hair. He scooped him into his arms and turned toward his mostly-loaded pack, and Runaan’s limp feet swung wide with the force of his spin.

Runaan’s darkening eyes were drawn to the lambent sunbeam that lit the butterflies and dust motes in the center of the grotto. “Always thought I’d die in moonlight… Why I had to find _you_ , Ethari. My moonlight.” Cold, exhausted, and cradled by his husband’s strong arms, Runaan gave in to the ghosts, closed his eyes, and rested his head on Ethari’s shoulder one last time.

Ethari went very still, two strides from his medical supplies. They’d never be enough now. But Runaan’s words rang in his ears.

_Always thought I’d die in moonlight…_

_In moonlight…_

_Moon reflects Sun, as death reflects life…_

_Moonshadows never do anything for one reason when two or three will do instead._

“Runaan,” Ethari murmured softly. “You forgot why we use the grotto as our base camp while we’re out in this part of the Forest, didn’t you?” His big feet trod toward the shaft of light, and soon his boots crossed thick mossgrass instead of dirt. He stepped around bunches of golden flowers and through a few long, trailing vines that dangled in from above, entering the bright beam with his dying husband in his arms.

With infinite gentleness, Ethari set Runaan down on his side in the center of the light. The dark demiwyrm stinger still pierced Runaan’s body, gleaming a deep metallic blue in the bright sunlight. His shirt was stained dark with blood. His skin had gone ashen, and all the coiled power that lived in his limbs had fled, leaving him collapsed and still.

This was not Runaan. This was not his husband.

Ethari gritted his teeth. His chest began to heave with deep, purposeful breaths.

_I want my husband back. And I will have him._

The moment Runaan was free of his arms, Ethari darted to the first of six low, mossy stones that edged the light. He pulled a small scraper from his belt and scrabbled at the moss, uncovering an ancient carven Sun rune. With eager relief, Ethari traced its sharp squiggles with his fingers. “Yes! Yes, I _knew_ you were there.”

The light seemed to pool in the stony shadows of the rune, setting it slowly aglow with a deep golden radiance that uplit Ethari’s hopeful expression. He glanced over his shoulder. “Hold on, Runaan, you stubborn elf. I’m saving you, and that’s the end of it.”

Ethari flew to the other five stones and freed their rune carvings from the obscuring moss with desperate fingers. Five of the runes filled with light and began to pulse and hum. But the sixth was just out of the sun’s reach, obscured in shadow due to the sun’s angle.

Ethari glared at it and stalked back to his abandoned pack. “Fuck you, Sun rune. You’re no match for me. I’m a _Moonshadow_ elf.” He swiped something from a side pocket and hurried back into the center of the sunlight, holding up his chosen tool.

“Moon reflects Sun, bitch.” Ethari angled his little mirror, and a beam of reflected light bounced from its surface and landed on the shadowed Sun rune.

The six runes created a dazzling ring of light around Ethari and Runaan, their magic self-sustaining now. Ethari clicked his mirror shut in triumph and glanced over his shoulder worriedly.

Runaan twitched.

Ethari let out a high-pitched laugh of relief and darted back to his husband. He crouched by his side and rested a hand on his blood-soaked shirt. “Oh, my heart, this is going to hurt. I have to take out the poison spine.”

Runaan was still at death’s door, and Ethari wasn’t sure he’d even heard him. But perhaps that was for the best. Ethari yanked off his own shirt and wrapped it around the broken end of the demiwyrm stinger to protect him from its poison barbels. Then he braced one hand on his husband’s body, took a steadying breath, let it out slowly, and _pulled_.

The sound Runaan made was unearthly, and he arched hard against Ethari’s hand. Ethari couldn’t help crying out along with him. He hurled the poisonous spine away from him and heard it clatter somewhere in the dark. Then he scooped Runaan into his arms again and held him tight against him, burying his face against his hair while the Sun runes roared louder and louder around them.

“Runaan, Runaan… stay with me…”

The healing Sun-light was as bright as his forge, but it bore no heat. It blazed so intensely that Ethari could see it through his eyelids. Overcome and overwhelmed, he felt as if Runaan weighed next to nothing in his arms—a mere shadow.

“Please stay, please stay, _please_ …”

The roar of the light filled his ears and shook his bones. He couldn’t tell if he was yelling along with it, or if that was just his soul demanding that Death give him back his husband.

The light dimmed and quieted, but Ethari’s head still thrummed and spun. He knelt in the quiet beam of natural sunlight, gasping for breath, clutching his precious husband in his arms, the one he loved most in the world, the one person he would do anything for, his one true love. He held still and waited for that miracle he needed.

Runaan’s arm raised and returned Ethari’s embrace with light but insistent pressure.

Ethari burst into tears, sobbing happily into Runaan’s hair.

Runaan held him softly for a long while. “I’m sorry, my heart,” he finally murmured. “I’m sorry I worried you again.”

Ethari drew in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “Are the ghosts gone?” he asked.

Runaan paused and looked over Ethari’s shoulder, then off to the sides. “Yes.”

“And the extra thoracic ventilation?”

Runaan patted gingerly at his bloodied shirt and found himself whole. “That too.”

“Then I’m not worried any longer, and you’re forgiven.”

Runaan’s bottom lip trembled, and he smiled, nodding and looking down. “I don’t deserve you.”

“‘Deserve’ has nothing to do with it. I chose you. I’m never un-choosing you.”

“Yes, my heart.” Runaan’s voice was small and quiet, chastised and humbled. “I will do better. I’ll be more careful—”

“You’ll be Runaan, is what you’ll do,” Ethari instructed. “I knew who you were when I married you.” He sighed and held Runaan extra tight. “But yes, my shade, please guard yourself well. You know what will happen to me if you die.”

Runaan wriggled in his arms. “Don’t you dare.”

“I _will_ dare. I’ll eat my way through every single tub of ice cream in the Silvergrove and you know it.”

Runaan tsked. “Even my mint chocolate chunk?”

“I’m eating that one first, in remembrance of you.”

Runaan stiffened at that. “Is love so fleeting, then?” he said, pouting. “The mere flicker of a shadow— _oof_!”

Ethari pulled him close and tumbled to the mossgrass with him, landing with Runaan held securely in his arms atop his chest. “Don’t you start.”

Runaan relented, and his mock scowl melted into a tender smile. “Yes, my heart.” He lowered his head and pressed a soft, warm kiss against Ethari’s lips, while his side tails tickled Ethari’s ears. “For saving me. My hero.”

“Mmm. Much better than ice cream. Let’s get you a bath, something to eat, and plenty of water and rest,” Ethari said firmly. “And then we’ll see about dessert snacks.”

Runaan sat up beside him, and Ethari joined him, steadying his husband with a gentle hand. Runaan’s hand patted absently at the place where he’d been stabbed through, finding only his own bloodied shirt and smooth skin. “You’re just trying to get my shirt off too.”

Buoyed by relief, Ethari chuckled and said, “Come on, Runaan. You know Moonshadows never do anything for one reason when two or three will do instead.”


	7. Between Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethari has dreamed of Runaan every night since his flower sank in the ritual pool. But tonight, he dreams a different dream... or does he?
> 
> Prompt: Life | Death

“Ah. I’m dreaming again.” Ethari’s moment of clarity rang around the dell where the ritual pool sat. The sky was misty, as always, below the village barrier, but somehow he knew that beyond it lay not the bright endless sky, but a strange, empty world of twilight.

That, and Runaan was dragging him up the tree house steps while holding his hand tight and desperate, like he used to when they first began courting.

And then there were the rabid lava zombies swarming the Silvergrove, chasing the husbands up the steps. Ethari was pretty sure they weren’t real.

Runaan was gone. His heartbloom had sunk two weeks ago. Rayla had come and gone, too. Ethari had dreamed of her every night since, hoping she was doing well, keeping safe. Hoping that Callum had her back, the way Runaan had always had his. But Ethari had been dreaming of Runaan even before Rayla came home.

He’d begun dreaming of Runaan the night his heartbloom flower sank into the pond. Wild, desperate dreams, full of pain and running, outstretched hands. And Runaan’s eyes. Always those wide turquoise eyes, locking onto him as if he was Runaan’s only refuge from the end of the world.

They would run together, shelter together, cling together. Runaan buried his face against Ethari’s shoulder again and again, never saying a single word. He’d bolt in from a battlefield, from a forest fire, from a mob of monsters, drag Ethari to the nearest safe place, and wrap himself around him, body and soul.

Ethari wasn’t sure he really needed that much protecting, but he didn’t care. He got to hold Runaan in his arms again, every night. To be his bastion of safety, his home, his heart.

Ethari didn’t care _why_ it was happening. It was enough that it did.

Waking was always full of tears, though. Waking, and realizing that Runaan hadn’t been there, after all. The days seemed endlessly long until he could collapse into bed once more and dream of protecting his beloved, of being exactly what Runaan needed.

He had never been sure that he was. He _hoped_ so. He strived so hard to be Runaan’s perfect match. And then he’d lost him, and it felt like Ethari had never been good at anything ever in his life.

Until the dreams began. Until Runaan threw himself into Ethari’s arms night after night, escaping all the chaos that was chasing him, just to be near him. To be held.

Just to _be_.

Runaan shoved open the tree house doors and tugged Ethari in after him, shutting out the burbling magmatic cries of the horde on their heels. He skidded to a stop in front of Ethari, but instead of pulling him to a sheltering corner and holding him tightly as he always did, he blinked and paused. Then he faced Ethari directly and cupped his cheek. “What did you say?”

Ethari gasped. Runaan had never said a word in any of his dreams. He’d missed the sound of his husband’s voice. And here it was: soft, wondering, yet still urgent, filling his ears with Runaan’s presence.

This was the best dream ever. And he could feel it shift around him. The lava zombies were gone outside. He just knew.

“You should talk more,” Ethari commented. He took Runaan’s hands and walked backward to his work desk. Once he bumped against it, he hopped up and centered Runaan between his knees. He rested his hands on Runaan’s waist and added, “You ask one question out loud and the dream changes. I never minded holding you close and protecting you from monsters and disasters. But maybe we could try a softer dream if we’re going to keep meeting like this.” He winked winningly, as if they were still courting.

Runaan squinted and turned his head a bit, as if he were thinking hard. “Very well. Tell me about your day, then.” His hand hesitated for a moment, then lifted to brush Ethari’s wayward locks from his eye, tucking them softly behind his ear.

Ethari leaned into that soft contact with a tiny whimper and closed his eyes. His fingers dug into Runaan’s shirt. How he’d missed this, even in dreams. How he’d longed for it, this everyday sweetness. Sharing the house with Runaan had been one of the most painful parts of losing him. Just knowing that such a wonderful person was right there, in earshot, in arm’s reach, had been a gift Ethari hadn’t realized he was taking for granted.

He missed all the little unimportant things he’d gotten to say, too. But now he could ramble all night. “I made Rayla a new dagger today. Folded steel, with swirlies all along the blade. The enchantments go all the way through the metal. I hope she likes it.”

“She… she made it home?” Runaan’s voice was faint.

“Well and whole, my shade. I know you must’ve worked hard to save her.” Ethari’s eyes welled. “You did good. She’s alright.”

“And… her hand?”

“Which one?”

Runaan frowned and looked down, confused. “The one with the ribbon. Surely you noticed.”

“What? No, no ribbons. Her hands are both fine.”

“But…” Runaan studied his left hand, shifting his gaze up to his bicep. But whatever he thought he was seeing, Ethari couldn’t make it out. Runaan looked the same as he always had. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hey now. Where are all my dream kisses? What’s Rayla’s hand got to do with anything, hmm?” Ethari cupped Runaan’s cheek and pulled him close for a kiss.

But Runaan resisted him breathlessly, staring with such intensity that Ethari lost his train of thought.

“Runaan?”

“Was she alone?”

“This dream is wild. Did I have too much moscato before bed?” Ethari mumbled to himself.

“Ethari!” Runaan shook him urgently by the shoulders.

The dream had felt surreal enough already. But Runaan’s sudden urgency, along with his refusal to stay on Ethari’s topic, made the last shreds of reality evaporate. Ethari was left feeling floaty and detached, in a bubble of wild possibility that only vaguely resembled the feeling of the real world anymore. His workshop wobbled like jelly and faded to pastel gossamer ribbons.

The only real color in Ethari’s world lay in Runaan’s eyes. Their gemlike turquoise blazed at him with no less intensity than in all of his memories. He grasped Ethari’s shoulders, then his cheeks, and repeated, “Was. Rayla. Alone.”

“No, Runaan,” Ethari breathed. “She had a human with her. Callum.”

Runaan’s hands dropped away, and he looked aside, swearing under his breath. “Just the one prince? And the egg?”

“Prince? Egg? You mean the Dragon Prince. Yes, he was with them, safe and sound. And more adorable than my shadowpaw, which I didn’t think was possible Rayla’s taking him to the Storm Spire now. I gave them our mounts to speed them on their way… Runaan, you’ve gone pale.”

Runaan’s hands fumbled and latched on to Ethari’s shirt. “My flower… did it sink?”

Ethari needed a moment before he could answer that. Dreams and ghosts usually knew their own circumstances. “…Yes. Yes, it did. I haven’t fished it out yet… I can’t.”

“Don’t. It’s wrong.”

“ _What_?” Ethari’s eyes snapped up to Runaan’s.

“I’m not dead. I’m… somewhere else, but it’s no afterlife here. It’s…” Runaan swallowed hard. “Lain and Tiadrin didn’t run.”

Ethari’s belly quivered, and his mind rang like a bell. He stood up sharply and held Runaan’s forearms. “What’s happening? What is even happening right now? I… I don’t…”

Runaan’s hands grasped his arms in return. “I don’t either. But listen to me. I saw them. They were captured, like I have been. They _didn’t run_ , Ethari.” He looked away, sick. “Everything I’ve done…”

Ethari’s mind zeroed in on a different detail, though. “ _Captured_? Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

Runaan’s fingers clutched at Ethari’s forge sleeves. “No, you can’t. You literally can’t. I don’t know where I am, and the dark magic that put me here was incredibly powerful—”

Ethari seized Runaan by his lapels and pulled him slowly nose to nose. “Excuse me, but _I’ll_ be the one to decide how far I’ll go for you.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “Ethari, I couldn’t stop him. If he got his hands on you, too…”

Ethari paused and nodded to himself. “You were alone. I won’t be. I don’t know who I’ll need, but I’ll find them. And then I’ll find you.”

Runaan settled his hands atop Ethari’s and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Start with Rayla’s human.”

“Callum? Why?”

“The dark mage, Viren, stole his voice. I barely noticed in the castle battle, but I don’t think they get on. And the boy lived there. He will know things. Talk to him. If he survived the trek back to Xadia, he must not be entirely useless.”

“Well now I _know_ I’m dreaming,” Ethari sassed. “Runaan, the stalwart Moonshadow assassin, out here talking up a soft human prince?”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. “I regret it already.”

“No you don’t. You need me to find you. And I will.”

Runaan gripped his hands more tightly. “I cannot ask you to risk yourself—”

“You never had to ask me that.”

Runaan closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Ethari’s. “Please be safe.”

Ethari pressed an encouraging kiss against Runaan’s lips. “That’s usually my line. How does it feel?”

“I don’t like it.”

“I never did, either. Dance with me.”

Runaan looked up at him questioningly.

“I just got you back, as much as I can under the circumstances. I’ll start looking for you in the morning. But for now, we’re both still dreaming. So dance with me. I’ve missed you so much.” Ethari’s voice hitched, and he caressed Runaan’s cheek.

Runaan’s mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t manage to speak. He sucked in a heavy breath and let it out slowly, nearly overcome. Then he took Ethari’s hand and pulled him into the center of their soft glowing dream.

As one, they both changed their clothing in a blink, wearing festival whites with heavy silver embroidery. Their feet found the steps as easily as breathing, and their palms met as they circled.

“All those dreams…” Ethari murmured, as Runaan spun beneath his uplifted hand. “They were real, then? For you?”

“Real enough,” Runaan said quietly as they turned together, an arm around each other’s waist. “I can’t explain where I am or what it’s like. But it’s…”

“Hellish.” Ethari pulled Runaan closer, slowly swaying.

“So I ran to you. And you held me safe, every night.” Runaan couldn’t meet his eyes, and his bottom lip trembled.

Ethari tipped up Runaan’s chin and ran his thumb along his cheek. Silently, he pulled Runaan into a swaying embrace, holding him tightly, safe and sound. Runaan buried his face against Ethari’s shoulder and clung to him as the long fabric of their robes swirled softly around their ankles.

The dance was just a dance. And it was a matter of life and death. And when it ended, the first day of the rest of their lives would begin.


End file.
